The Anatomy of an Argument
by TheSpazticFantastic
Summary: "Don't touch me! Please, I don't want to hurt you." The immediate aftermath of Elsa's declaration during "Do You Want to Build a Snowman" and Iduna and Agnarr's subsequent argument. This story takes place in the "When All Is Lost" story line.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Thank you to everyone reading along. This is part of the "When All Is Lost Series". My collaborator is not on FFN and we do not write the stories in sequence, so if you are looking for all the stories in chronological order you can find them here on A03. Or on Tumblr.

"Don't touch me! Please, I don't want to hurt you."

Iduna couldn't help it as her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide and stinging. _Elsa is only twelve_, she thought. She recovered quickly, though, blinking away the tears and moved to place a comforting hand on Agnarr's shoulder as he straightened up. She had seen him handle any number of political crises over the years, numerous council members and foreign dignitaries in various states of aggression or emotional distress, his own subjects in their darkest hours when they cry for or to or at their King. He is always so poised, so in control and radiating that ethereal calmness that only she knows is a complete act perfected over the past twenty-two years of his rule. But the words of their daughter leave him defeated and dumb in his grief.

"Elsa," she managed to speak past the painful constriction of her throat. "You could never hurt us."

"You don't know that," her daughter sobbed, clutching her hands tightly to her chest, as she turned away from them. Beside her, she heard Agnarr make a soft, helpless sound. She gripped his shoulder firmly, drawing on his strength to keep herself standing.

"I know it in my heart, love," she swore with as much sincerity as she could muster. She could see the panic in her little girl's eyes, glittering as brightly as her ice coating the walls and door. She had felt that same trapped, wild, animal panic when she was not that much older than Elsa is now. And it would have hurt less to cut her own heart out, to slit her own throat, before continuing to see her eldest daughter suffer so. If it was as easy as dying, she and Agnarr would have done so long ago.

"Please!" Elsa begged. "Please just stay away from me!" Iduna watched as Agnarr practically shrank and took a step back. She dropped her hand from his shoulder to grip his bicep through the rich fabric of his uniform. He halted his retreat, but never stopped looking at Elsa.

"Elsa," he said in a strained, broken voice.

"Please!" The ice was crawling up the wall, spreading across the door and if it continued, regardless of her desperate request they wouldn't be able to leave.

"Darling," Iduna said in a forced, calm voice. The same she had used whenever her daughter had an incident during their time together. "Papa and I will go. If you want us to. We will. We'll leave you alone this evening. We can have something nice you like, maybe that double chocolate cake, sent up for dessert. But before Papa leaves, I would like to get something. Is that alright?" Elsa nodded sharply, face turned to the corner of the room and shoulders shaking as she tried to cry silently. But the ice had stopped spreading.

"Stay with her," she whispered softly to Agnarr who flashed her a look of annoyance that she knew demanded if she _really_ thought _he_ would _leave_ Elsa in _this_ moment. There was a crackle from the top of the door as she broke through the thin layer of ice and a small flurry cascaded to the floor. Iduna hurried down the hall to their bedroom.

"Mama?" Anna's voiced piped up from the long afternoon shadows. She turned and managed a faltering smile.

"Yes, dear?"

"Is everything alright?" Anna peered up at her as she came closer. "I thought I heard yelling from Elsa's room. Is she hurt?"

"No, wee one," she ran a hand along her daughter's cheek and knelt so that they were at eye level. "Your sister isn't hurt. She's just a little upset from her lessons today."

"Oh? I thought she liked arithmetic a lot more than me!" Anna squinted and peered into her eyes. "You look sad, Mama," Anna reached out and touched Iduna's cheek. She bit her tongue. Hard. "Why are you sad?"

"Oh, Anna," Iduna pulled her into a tight hug, rocked her back and forth and tickled her tummy, making her giggle just a bit. "It's just a trick of the light. How could I ever be sad when I have you to cheer me up?" She leaned back and tapped Anna's nose. "Now, could you run along to the kitchens and ask if they have any extra double chocolate cake?

"For dinner?" Anna gasped, her face the very picture of delight.

"For dinner," she smiled as she stood. "You deserve a reward for working so hard on your sums."

"And what about Elsa? Should she get some because she had such a bad day?"

Iduna's heart warmed at her selfless girl. "I think that's a lovely idea. Elsa will appreciate you thinking of her so much. Why don't you go tell them?" Anna clapped her hands and ran off down the hall. As soon as she rounded the corner, Iduna bolted for the bedroom. She went to her dresser and opened the top drawer where she kept her shawl. She bunched it in her fists and scurried back to Elsa's room, hoping that Anna was actually heading to the kitchens and wouldn't see her with the shawl. It was a warm spring and would only raise more questions. Iduna knocked and entered to see Elsa sitting, cross-legged on the floor, gloved hands clasped against her stomach. She had stopped crying, but the occasional tear still tracked down her cheeks, and she was staring fixedly at her lap. Agnarr was also sitting on the floor, cross-legged, while gently speaking to her. They both looked up at her as she came into the room and she tried to give her daughter her warmest smile.

"Here, love," she offered Elsa the shawl. Elsa sniffled and blinked up at her.

"The cold doesn't bother me, Mama." She said in a tone that Iduna remember taking with _her_ mother when she reached the age where she believed her parents to be among the stupidest people who had ever lived.

"I know, darling," she knelt down. "But if you don't want your father or I to give you a hug, please take this. I hope you know that our love is always with you. Even when we're apart." Elsa's lip trembled, but she reached out and took the shawl, drawing it around her shoulders. She played with the fringes, purple against white. It was huge on her and draped down to the ground from where she sat. Iduna fought the urge to reach out and stroke her daughter's face. "It looks lovely against the blue."

"Thank you, mama," she whispered. The ice on the walls had already started to melt.

"We love you, Princess," Agnarr said in a hoarse voice. "We love you so, so much."

"I know, Papa," her voice shook. "I love you too. I don't want to hurt you." There was a long silence. "A-and I'm sorry I'm not controlling it. That I get upset. I know I'm letting you down. Letting the kingdom down." Iduna's heart sank lower with each word. Elsa had all of Agnarr's earnest desire to be a good ruler in addition to a burden that was starting to appear insurmountable.

"You're not letting me down, Elsa," Agnarr reassured her.

"But I am," her eyes started to water again. "I promise, Mama, Papa – tomorrow I'll try again. I'll try as hard as I can. But right now . . .can I please be alone?"

"You won't be scared?" Agnarr asked.

"I have Sir Jorgen Bjorgen," Elsa mumbled. "He listens when I'm scared. And it's scarier to think I might hurt you." Iduna had to give Agnarr credit for the stuffed penguin – she had thought their daughter was beyond the age where it would have helped. But it still hurt her heart to think that her twelve year-old's closest confidant was a stuffed animal. She rubbed her arms as she rose, looking down at her daughter's impossibly blonde hair. It seemed a cruel joke now, that they had once told her that her powers were a gift. That they themselves had believed they were a gift. Agnarr sighed and got to his feet.

"Elsa, you're an incredibly brave young woman," he said. "But I don't want you to believe that you have to go through this alone." He wrapped his arm around Iduna.

"Your father is right, darling. We'll keep doing this together."

"I know," she mumbled, intently fidgeting with the shawl. Agnarr tightened his hold on her waist and she stroked the top of the hand at her hip.

"Have a good evening, Princess."

"Have a good evening, Papa. Good evening, Mama." Agnarr dropped his arm and the two reluctantly walked out into the hallway. There was a resounding _click_ in the silence as Elsa locked her door. They walked in silence down the hall towards their bedroom.

"I sent Anna for the chocolate cake for dinner," she said dully. "She'll be down there for a little while."

"I'll send Gerda to try and dry what she can of the rug," Agnarr replied with the same deadened tone. "After Elsa is asleep, of course."

"Of course," her throat and chest ached as thought she had been breathing smoke. Her body was becoming foreign to her. Limbs like lead. Her thoughts kept churning over her baby's pain and fear. She could remember with heart-pounding clarity that rush of fear when she first came to Arendelle, the nearly overwhelming sense of helplessness and loss of control. She had seen Elsa's expression on her own face in the middle of the night at the orphanage after she woke from her own nightmares to splash water on her face, her terrified reflection foreign in the tiny, battered mirror on the wash stand. _I had hoped for so much better for them_.

Agnarr held the door open for her as she entered their room. The sun was low in the sky, dusk threatening to settle before long. She went to light a few candles as Agnarr removed his uniform jacket and hung it on a stand. In his shirt and suspenders, he walked to a small chaise and crashed into it, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. There were new lines around his eyes and mouth. She supposed there were new lines around hers as well. Usually, this was where she would go to him, or he would come to her depending on whose self-loathing was greater, and put her arms around his chest from behind. They would hold one another until their thoughts had formed into coherent words and sentences.

This was different. This wasn't Elsa upset. Or expressing her self-hatred. Or frustrated. She didn't realize she was staring at him until he looked up at her. He raised his arms as he did when he wanted to embrace her, but Iduna felt rooted to the spot where she stood.

"Agnarr," her voice was hardly her own. It had the sound of a bitter, twisted woman lost in her own frustration and rage. "It has been nearly five years.". He frowned at her tone and sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"I know how long it's been," he said. She could hear his own controlled frustration. "But tomorrow, we'll try again."

"This isn't working, love!" She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but his eyes widened at her response. "The girls have been apart for so long. We have been trying and trying to help her to control it, but she's right - it's only getting stronger."

"She'll learn to control it. I just need to-"

"Agnarr! This is bigger than you! Something needs to change!" She gestured at their door. "Our daughter just told us that she thinks she'll hurt us if we hug her!"

"Well, what else can we do?" He hissed, looking wounded and enraged. He hit his hand against the cushions of the chaise. "We can't open the gates – she'll be found out. I've written discreetly to some scholars. We've been buying every book on magic we've been able to find. Agents sent to every corner of Europe to try to find what they can! And so far, we haven't found any solid leads. No signs of Judet's brother, no confirmation of anyone else like Elsa – nothing except rumors and stories to frighten children!"

"I don't know, Agnarr, I don't know what the answer is," she growled, drumming her fingers on the dresser. She hated this, this feeling of impotent helplessness in light of her daughter's suffering. She had spent the better part of her youth helping people, figuring out how to cure their ills, but this was not a sickness to be defeated. She hated that she was letting her anger get the better of her, that she was lashing out at Agnarr when they were both trying and failing desperately to help Elsa and that he, in turn, was snapping back at her. They had done so well keeping one another together. But she was tired and angry and this escalation of Elsa's fear – to reject what little comfort they could provide their daughter for fear of hurting them – this was too much. "We need to try something new! Maybe we can send someone we trust. Tell them about Elsa and the exact kind of information we're looking for. Maybe Atohallan is worth looking into more-"

"Iduna," he cut her off. He was rubbing his temples with his eyes squeezed shut. "Darling, do you hear yourself? We're lucky that we can trust Kai and Gerda with the girls' lives, but the more people who find out the more likely that Elsa will be publicly exposed before she can control her powers. Twenty-two years might seem like a long time, but too many people in Arendelle still don't trust magic. When the time comes, Elsa needs to be ready and in control! The very model of a powerful Queen."

Iduna shook her head, hating the ugly feeling building in her chest, hating that their words were loaded as though they both weren't raw enough from their daughter's earlier declaration. "Maybe," she said desperately. "Maybe the people of Arendelle will surprise you."

He snorted at that and waved his hand dismissively. "I didn't hear you complain when we first separated them. You saw the same vision the trolls showed me, no? Our daughter being torn apart by a ravenous mob? Because I don't think you have any real grasp of the danger our daughter is in if you believe that telling more people is a good idea!" There was a high-pitched buzz in her ears and her sight clouded as a black tunnel narrowed her focus to the uncharacteristic scowl twisting her husband's face as he spoke.

"What did you say?" She demanded, a smothering rage coursing through her body. She saw his expression slacken, the apology already apparent in his face and eyes as he opened his mouth. He had spoken carelessly, out of aggravation, and knew he had gone too far. "What did you say? You, of all people, think that I do not fully comprehend the danger that my daughter is in?" She marched across the room and grabbed his uniform jacket from its stand. She threw it at him.

"Put this on. We're going for a ride!"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to the reviewer who clued me in to the fact that none of the links I've posted seem to have worked. A03 is Archive of Our Own. My user name there is TheSpasticFantasic and my collaborator's user name is Fericita. The URL for the When All Is Lost Series is: series/1571230 When All is Lost can also be found on Tumblr at whenallislost

My collaborator is not on FFN and we do not write the stories in sequence, so if you are looking for all the stories in chronological order you can find them there.

**Please be advised this chapter contains implied and explicit depictions of violence.**

By the time Agnarr managed to pull his jacket off his head while trying to splutter an apology, his wife had swept out the door. Although his initial instinct was to go after her immediately and beg her forgiveness, he already felt that this evening's events were going to cause enough chatter among their remaining staff. A semi-public spat between the King and Queen hardly needed to be added to the gossip. Agnarr sighed, tossed his uniform aside and buried his head in his hands, eyes burning. He blinked rapidly and ran his tongue along the back of his teeth, the brief bite of pain a welcome distraction. He probably should have done that before speaking so carelessly and cruelly to Iduna. To center himself if he couldn't maintain his calm. But Elsa cringing away from him. . .

He was a hypocrite. How many times had he told her that getting upset only made things worse? And here he was, snapping at his wife. It wasn't her fault. He had sworn to protect her and the girls. He was the husband, the father, the King. And he was a failure. He was a liar. Years before, when the trolls had shown him the vision of his daughter being torn apart by an unruly mob, he had promised them that the separation wouldn't last. He had been so certain that Elsa would learn to control her powers the same way he had learned to control his tongue in the Council meetings his father had brought him to in his youth. She was such a good girl, far more obedient than Anna, to the point where he had once almost wished she would get into a little mischief. Elsa had always been an excellent student as well, as diligent as he and her mother had ever been with a clever and inquisitive mind. How could he have known?

But he was supposed to know. He was supposed to be able to reassure Iduna that their daughter would be safe. That she would learn to control her powers. That she would be happy. He was supposed to make Elsa believe that she could control them, that she would be a wonderful and caring Queen in her own time, and that it had never occurred to him that she could ever hurt him with her powers. He was supposed to help Anna understand that the separation was only temporary -a long temporary, but not a forever. That her sister loved her dearly, even if he couldn't explain that Elsa's reluctance to even acknowledge her sister was a manifestation of that protective love. That she wasn't missing out on the world by remaining inside the castle. A lie he told himself as well. He was supposed to reassure Arendelle that the Royal Family was, if not fine, then functioning competently enough to produce a capable ruler for the future.

He had once found Iduna, years ago when the arrangement was still new, despondent and nearly through a bottle of wine after an especially exhausting day of Elsa's numb terror and Anna's vocal frustration. She had felt ashamed, but he had never thought any less of her as a mother. Or a monarch. Or a wife.

"Pull yourself together," he muttered to himself as he rose and grabbed his uniform jacket. Wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to solve anything. And while he been slow at times to figure out what Iduna wanted, he wasn't so thick that he didn't know acquiescing to her uncharacteristic demand was the only possible way to salvage this situation.

It took time. The stable hands had to be summoned from their dinners, perplexed at this unusual and rare request. Most outings, rare as they had become, were planned days, if not weeks, in advance. The horses had to be tacked up and readied. The Captain of the Guard, Askel Runde, was notified that they were not to be followed, but he had long ago grown accustom to their demands for privacy and stood down his over eager squad who were prepared to ride out in full force.

Iduna had already requested that Gerda put Anna to bed for the evening with her apologies and the promise of a special breakfast in the morning. It wasn't entirely uncommon for them to meet with the occasional dignitary whose ship brought them in late in the afternoon. Anna wouldn't suspect – they would just have to concoct a good story for all of her inquires in the morning about the great wide world that had such people in it. They had both learned to excel at telling those kinds of stories over the past few years.

"I'm sorry," he told her softly as they waited outside the stables for the grooms to prepare the horses. "I was upset."

"I know," she replied shortly, her eyes on her gloves as she pulled them on. She had changed into riding pants and boots. He had exchanged his uniform for a grey duster. He had no idea where she intended to take him, but had heeded her warning that they would not remain on the roads.

"I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I know that you understand how much danger Elsa is in," he continued, wishing that she would look at him so he could better discern her thoughts. He hated it when she was cross with him. Especially when he deserved it. "I don't think you're foolish. Or naïve. Or unaware of the dangers our daughter is facing."

Oh, love," she laughed humorlessly. "I don't think I am either. But I think that you might be."

It had been a long ride. Even beyond Eir's, which is how Agnarr would always think of the orphanage even though the old woman had passed several years ago. The moon had risen, full and bright and cold against the night sky. They had seen no one else on the road for some time when Iduna finally came to a stop and dismounted. He silently followed her lead, walking into the woods some distance before securing their horses to a tree. The trees were not so thick as to block the moonlight here, but Agnarr took one of the lanterns that had been secured in the saddle bags.

"Don't light it," Iduna warned. "You'll ruin your vision. Your eyes will adjust fine to the moon light. I want you to see this." And she walked fearlessly, silently, deeper into the forest. Agnarr stumbled after her, carefully watching his tread, slipping on the roots and moss anyhow, and catching the long duster on every damnable bramble he came across. After a few minutes of his bumbling, his wife turned with an impatient sigh. She took the lantern, unlit, in one hand and hooked her elbow around his.

"Thank you," he murmured. He had never been quite so at ease in nature as she. Her grace and knowledge in the woods had caused no small amount of awe and respect on his part as a young man. And finding out her origins had done nothing to diminish his sense of wonder with her. "I suppose it's too dark for me to recognize this place. I can't think of a single inch of the woods surrounding Eir's that we didn't explore at some point."

"I never brought you here," came her terse response. But underneath the annoyance in her tone and the unusual strength in her grip, Agnarr could detect a brittleness in her voice. He squeezed her hand and let her guide him in silence. Presently, the woods gave way to a small clearing no larger than ten paces across. It was quiet, grassy and even in just the light of the moon he could easily make out several varieties of wildflowers that blanketed the ground. One the left side was the thick trunk of an old tree that had clearly died some years before, it stood jagged at twice Agnarr's height. She stopped halfway through the clearing, staring up at the top of the trunk. After a moment, she bowed her head and started to speak softly in the language of the Northuldra. He had convinced her to teach him a few words over the years, but was unable to make out what she was saying now. But the words had the private sounds of prayer. The breeze rusted the forest around them. An owl hooted. Agnarr waited.

"I told you how the first time I saw you, after the mist closed, after I left you at the castle gates, you didn't remember me." Iduna's voice had a faraway quality and when he glanced at her face, her eyes were glazed. Glassy. She looked entirely too much like Elsa did when she felt overwhelmed and he felt a pang in his heart.

"I remember," he said softly as she drew his arm around her. He rested his head against hers, hoping that his presence was a comfort and not a burden.

"While I was at Market Square that day, two men were talking about a man from Northuldra. Someone who had been trapped outside when the mist closed. Probably a trader like Judet and Dure." She paused and took a deep breath. He listened. "They were saying how a group of people from Arendelle had taken him out into the woods. That they had seen him since. Well, I say "saying". They were laughing about it. They thought it was a good joke. I've never forgotten that. How much they were enjoying themselves."

Her breathing was becoming unsteady and he tightened his hold on her. He had asked her, over the years, about her first days in Arendelle but she had told him the funny stories about the other children at the orphanage, Eir's kindness, her distaste for many of the foods she had been offered. Even now, if he wanted to tease her, he need only mention porridge for breakfast.

"It was after Yule," she continued. He could hear her swallow. "After you came to the orphanage and we . . .met. Again. I had finished my chores and asked Eir if I could go exploring. I was looking for something. I don't remember what it was. There was some kind of tea I wanted to make." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I wandered out this way. And I found him." She shrugged. "What was left of him."

Agnarr felt the dawning horror washing over him. He shifted his weight so he could bring both of his arms around her and Iduna drew them up to her chest, gripping his sleeves with her hand.

"The winter hadn't been kind to him. Neither had the people who did it. He didn't have a face left. Not much of skull, to be honest. I remember, afterwards, dreaming that it was my brother Duvka, but he wasn't down here trading when the mist closed." She shuddered. "I don't know if it was someone I knew as a child. And the things they had done to the body. They had-" she shrugged again, waving a hand as her voice broke. He could hear her starting to sniffle. "Anyway. I wouldn't have known it was a man if I hadn't heard them talking about it in Arendelle."

"Iduna," he murmured, heartbroken.

"The hatred," she spat. "The utter hatred they had carved across his body. The snow preserved it." He could hear the tears in her voice. "And I couldn't just leave him where I found him." She jerked her head to the west. "And I knew I couldn't bury him with the ground frozen. So I found this trunk. I found it and it was hollow enough. And I built a fire. I wrapped him in birch bark. And I buried him as best I could. You know, my tribe didn't usually do the tree burials? I thought about digging a grave in the spring, but I couldn't bring myself to do it." She snorted. Agnarr suppressed the shudder that was threatening to rattle his body. "But I used to come here to pray for him. To make sure that he hadn't been disturbed. Even after I left the orphanage, even after I came to the castle, even after the girls were born – I would find my way out here from time to time."

"I wish," he felt helpless. "I wish you had told me."

"At fourteen? Love, what would you have done?"

"I would have protected you," he swore. He would have. He should have. "I would have punished the people who did this."

"I don't know if the Council would have considered that advisable, in the aftermath of the Northern Expedition," her voice held a hint of sarcasm that cut through her grief. "This is the only Northuldra I know who was murdered. But there must have been more."

"Iduna, I swear that I didn't-"

"I know that you didn't know," she tightened her grip on him and leaned her head back against his chest. "I never thought that you did. But it was the only time I was grateful that you didn't remember me from before. From when we first met. You were so kind. You were always so kind. It was a nightmare to think of you passing judgement on me for being who and what I am."

"Never," he breathed, horrified at the implication. She allowed him to hug her tightly before freeing herself from his arms and turning to look at him as she wiped her face.

"Agnarr, I know exactly how much danger that Elsa is in. That Anna is in. You're right – when the trolls showed us our daughter being torn apart, I didn't argue that the girls needed to be separated. I thought it was the right answer at the time. I've seen first-hand what happens when fear rules. How it turns people into monsters. I could see it too easily then, Elsa being murdered by a mob. Them doing to her what they did to him." Agnarr reached out and hugged her fiercely. "I had dreams – nightmares - of wrapping her body in birch bark. Sometimes Anna too. As though it was a curse that tainted both girls. But I knew you would protect them, protect our family." She bowed her head against him, sniffling. "I _never_ thought it would be this long. I thought that we would have helped Elsa learn to control her powers by now. But she's right, they're only getting stronger. How many promises have we broken to her? To Anna? How much longer will they believe what we tell them?"

He sighed and stroked her hair. It was true. Despite his best efforts to guide Elsa in controlling her feelings, and despite his daughter's inhuman efforts to master her emotions, things were getting worse. Anna was growing older and no longer placated by stories and distractions and vague promises of when their family would be whole once more.

"And you and I-"

"You and I are one, Sunny," he vowed, holding her close so he could feel her heartbeat. "We'll figure it out. We'll protect the girls. We'll protect Arendelle. We'll make this right." They stood together for a moment, his arms around her shoulders and her arms around his waist. "I have to confess, though, I don't understand how you can tell me this . . .tell me what happened to you. What you went through. And to still think it wise to let more people know about Elsa's powers. How you can still trust the people of Arendelle?"

"We don't have to trust everyone in Arendelle, not yet," Iduna said. "But we've been sending people out to collect books and stories without knowing exactly what they're looking for beyond 'magic'. Judet is only one person and her brother . . .who knows? Even when we've sent scouts and spies, they have no idea what their actual mission is about. Maybe we can trust one person with the knowledge of Ahtohallan and Elsa's powers." Agnarr listened intently. "Someone who can carry out a real search for the real objective. It's just – I know we wanted to keep this from as many people as possible, but this is too much. It's too much, Agnarr. I can't live the rest of my life unable to touch my little girl. We need to do everything possible to bring this to an end and we're not doing that. We haven't done that."

"I see," he swallowed hard. He didn't want to imagine Elsa alone and isolated throughout her life. Anna would most likely leave at some point to marry. He and Iduna wouldn't live forever. He couldn't let his daughter live her life without love or a family of her own. This had to be fixed.

"I know you don't think this is wise but-"

"No," he said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "You're right. We need to do more. I think your plan makes sense. And I think I know who can be trusted to carry it out."


End file.
